The nervous ox, terrified at the sudden discharge
between his legs, gave a tremendous kick, and continued madly kicking
and plunging, until Mahomet was pitched over his head and lay sprawling
on the ground;--this scene terminated the expedition.
Dismounting from our tired oxen, our first inquiry was concerning boats
and letters. What was the reply? Neither boats, letters, supplies, nor
any intelligence of friends or the civilized world! We had long since
been given up as dead by the inhabitants of Khartoum, and by all those
who understood the difficulties and dangers of the country. We were told
that some people had suggested that we might possibly have gone to
Zanzibar, but the general opinion was that we had all been killed. At
this cold and barren reply, I felt almost choked. We had looked forward
to arriving at Gondokoro as to a home; we had expected that a boat would
have been sent on the chance of finding us, as I had left money in the
hands of an agent in Khartoum--but there was literally nothing to
receive us, and we were helpless to return. We had worked for years in
misery, such as I have but faintly described, to overcome the
difficulties of this hitherto unconquerable exploration; we had
succeeded--and what was the result? Not even a letter from home to
welcome us if alive! As I sat beneath a tree and looked down upon the
glorious Nile that flowed a few yards beneath my feet, I pondered upon
the value of my toil.
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